Forging Our Bonds
by AniPendragon
Summary: Family isn't just blood – it's found connections and chosen bonds that last a lifetime. In the Institute, the New Recruits find a family with each other, one that can overcome any obstacle. A series of connected snapshots and oneshots. Pairings found within.
1. Welcome to the Institute

**Summary:** Family isn't just blood – it's found connections and chosen bonds that last a lifetime. In the Institute, the New Recruits find a family with each other, one that can overcome any obstacle. A series of connected snapshots and oneshots.

 **Ships:** _Ray/Sam, Bobby/Jubilee, Tabitha/Amara, Roberto/Rahne later on, canon ships._

 **Author's Note:** Inspired by _Tales From the Kiddie Table,_ I present to you, some oneshots about the New Recruits. The ships are listed above. All author's notes will be at the end after this chapter. Summaries for each chapter will be located below the title.

If you like it, please leave a review!

 **One: Welcome to the Institute**

 _The Institute is warm, friendly, but it's not home. He doesn't belong here. And Ray is achingly, painfully, aware of that._

The first day at the Institute went about as well as Ray thought it would. Someone – Ms. Munroe, probably – bought him sandals before bringing him to the place. They made him clean his hair and his teeth, something he hadn't always had the luxury of doing.

He couldn't help but feel like a show pony. Or like some kind of act. "Look at us, we cleaned up the street rat," they'd say to each other before patting themselves on the back. "Aren't we so nice to do this for him?"

The thought made his stomach churn. Words echoed around in his head – _worthless, charity case, street rat_ – until they blocked out his own thoughts and made him snarl into his (too soft, too fluffy, too new) pillow.

Ray was bitter. That much he couldn't help. He was bitter that he wasn't "good enough" to be in the Institute without an hour of prep work. He was bitter that Callisto and Caliborn had basically tossed him out of the sewers and told him not to come back.

That bitterness, sharp and harsh on his tongue, left his mouth cotton dry and his head pounding rhythmically with the too-fast beating of his heart.

With a sigh, Ray turned his head to see his roommate – Sam, the twangy farm boy – fast asleep in his own bed. His soft sleep snuffling was soothing, despite Ray's frustration.

But he couldn't sleep.

So he clambered out of bed, yanked his jeans on over his boxers and stumbled out of the bedroom. He padded down the halls in silence, not bothering with the lights. Between the full moon outside and his adaption to dark environments over the last two years, it wasn't that hard for him to manoeuvre through the darkness, around the various side tables, and down to the kitchen.

The lights flickered on, dim but there, as Ray entered the kitchen, his body already keying into the building to make the lights obey his every command. There was a thrill in it – in hunting through the circuits and figuring out which one did what thing. There was a secondary power supply in the house – one that seemed hooked into a sub-basement – and Ray had to wonder what that was all about.

He opened the door to the fridge and snagged a water bottle, downing half of it in one go. There was a tin of cookies on the counter with a cheery "share please!" note in swirling green handwriting. He figured it was probably Jean. The other X-Men didn't strike him as bakers. Ms. Munroe probably was, but she seemed more like a pale blue or purple kind of lady, not a green one.

He grabbed two cookies, they appeared to be chocolate chip, and tucked himself into the window seat of the kitchenette area. The sky was clear tonight, and this far out of Bayview, there were plenty of stars. Ray let his eyes trace the constellations. Callisto's voice was in his ear, whispering their names as they waited for the police to pass. Their sirens swirling on the streets, four storeys below.

With a blink, Ray found himself back in the window seat, the memories fading from his vision. He sighed, soft, and his breath fogged the window for a moment. It faded, the summer warmth lingering outside despite cool night, and he did it again. This time he let his finger trace the fog before it faded again.

It was almost two in the morning. He needed sleep. But sleep wouldn't come – not easily and not tonight. The Institute was too new. The pain of abandonment was too fresh. And everything – from the frustration that slowly leaked from him into the cool glass of the window, to the quiet anxiety that took its place – was too sharp around the edges.

Like lightning, Ray thought. Striking hard and harshly and leaving only burn marks and afterimages behind. He rolled one of the half-eaten cookies over his fingers, feeling the electricity that prickled them.

He wanted to go outside. To strike out into the night and vanish. The Professor would find him. Ray'd figured out one of the power sources in the house led to some kind of weird machine and, based on the earlier conversations he'd overheard, it was some kind of mutant tracking device.

Whatever. At least he'd have a few days of peace.

The kitchen door swung open and one of the X-Men walked in. Short dark guy with blond hair. Ray couldn't place his name. Found he didn't much care.

"Hey, Ray, right?" said the guy. His voice was soft, but it still broke the silence, and that put Ray on edge for no reason other than years of muscle memory. Of memories of voices in the night that shouldn't have been there.

"Yeah," said Ray. He went back to staring out the window.

A moment of blissful silence, broken again by the guy's question. "Where did you find cookies?"

"Cookie tin," said Ray. He didn't look at the guy. There was the telltale noise of the tin being opened and closed, and then the guy was standing across from Ray, his head tilted to one side and a cookie in each hand.

"You all right, man?" asked the guy.

"Fine," said Ray. He wanted to be alone. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to be. This place seemed kind of weird about leaving people alone. Too many people crammed together despite the extra space. Ray wondered if that was by design – driving them into the same space until they were forced to become friends. Or enemies, perhaps.

There were two telepaths in the house. They'd probably be mad if they could read his thoughts. But they couldn't. Ray had noticed that when he'd met the professor, and before, in the sewers, as well. His mind was static to telepaths. Static and pain, if you dug too deep.

"I know the first night's always the hardest, especially if you're a city kid," said the guy.

Ray raised an eyebrow at him. "City kid," he echoed, voice giving away nothing.

The guy shifted so that both cookies were in one hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I mean, we're both New Yorkers, man. Gotta stick together, right?" He looked sheepish, a little smile on his face and his dark eyes warm, if worried.

Ray caught himself smiling, just as small, if a little less friendly. "Right," said Ray. The guy didn't know his story, didn't need to. But hey, he was trying, and that was more than most of them had done today.

"Anyway, man, try and get some sleep, okay? You guys are getting fitted for the Danger Room tomorrow," said the guy. He waved at Ray, shoved a cookie in his mouth, and disappeared.

Ray raised an eyebrow once the guy was gone. Danger Room? That must have been what the rest of the secondary power supply was for.

Well, thought Ray, maybe this place _would_ be interesting after all. If nothing else, he could stick around for a couple days. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

And just like that, he was bitter again. With a sigh, Ray got to his feet and headed to the living room. Maybe some TV would help.


	2. Pride

**Two: Pride**

 _Tabitha has never been ashamed of who she is, but now she has a chance to show it off. Too bad not everyone takes it well. But then again, sometimes support comes in the strangest of places._

Tabitha fiddled with her bracelets as she headed downstairs. The rainbow arranged beads glittered in the lighting of the mansion, shimmering and shaking as she sashayed into the kitchen to grab some breakfast. She plucked a muffin from a plate and an apple from the fruit bowl that was set up on the kitchen island.

"Morning," she said, stuffing the muffin into her mouth.

"Morning," said Roberto, not looking up from his summer studies.

Bobby looked up to smile at her, only for his gaze to catch on the bracelets. "What's with the rainbows?" he asked. That drew the attention of a couple of others in the room.

With a practiced shrug, Tabitha tore off another piece of her muffin and popped it into her mouth. "I like 'em," said Tabitha. "Good for makin' statements."

"Huh," said Bobby.

There was something in his tone that had Tabitha's hackles rising. "What?" she asked, still maintaining her casual tone. "Problem?"

Bobby seemed taken aback at that. "Oh? No, no," he said. He raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing wrong, Tabs, just uh, didn't expect it."

"Really?" asked Roberto, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't expect _Tabitha_ to be a…" He trailed off. Tabitha knew that look. The look of a person debating their next words.

She gritted her teeth, setting down her apple to clench one fist to her side. Wasn't this place supposed to be accepting? What the hell had happened to _that_?

"I'm gonna go get ready for training," muttered Tabitha. She left the kitchen, heading back toward the stairs. Kitty nearly bumped into her, and both girls froze to shuffle around each other.

Kitty's eyes found the bracelets and then went wide. "Oh, you're…" She trailed off, much like how Roberto had. Tabitha forced herself to smile. _Why wasn't this allowed?_

"Yup," said Tabitha, the fake enthusiasm in her voice making Kitty flinch. Kitty took a few steps back, gaze flicking from Tabitha's face to her bracelets. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and the worry in her face didn't fade even as she kept backing up toward the kitchen.

"Later," said Kitty to the floor, and she almost _fled_ into the kitchen.

Once she was out of sight, Tabitha yanked off the bracelets and whipped them at the wall. They exploded into a shower of beads, blurred out by the tears in her eyes. She stalked upstairs to the shower.

Whatever. She could deal. It wasn't like she hadn't before.

…She'd just hoped this time would be different.

Two days passed and Tabitha mostly forgot about what she'd done with her bracelet. She didn't forget the reaction – who could? – but she mostly forgot about what must have happened to the beads.

That didn't stop the reactions of people around her. Kitty, Bobby, and Roberto had apparently let it slip, and now half the institute knew (if not the entire place). Amara was avoiding her, often going to bed long before or long after Tabitha. That hurt. She and Amara were supposed to be friends, roommates, and Amara wouldn't even talk to her.

Then again, she'd grown up conservative, just like Roberto, so maybe she was just trying not to upset Tabitha.

That almost hurt more than the actual rejection, come to think of it.

But Tabitha took it all in stride, that was what she'd been trained to do, after all, and she forced back her frustration and her pain and she plastered on her smile and kept going.

It was the middle of the day on Thursday, just after school had begun – and Tabitha having only been in for a half day that day – when Logan brought her home from school. She tried the front door as she walked forward and bumped into it.

"It's… locked?" said Tabitha with a wrinkled brow. In the weeks she'd been at the institute, the door had never been locked during the day.

"Must just be us," said Logan, fishing around in his pockets.

Tabitha clapped her hands together, fingers tingling as she went to form some of her bombs. "I can bust it open."

Logan actually laughed at that, soft and a little amused. Tabitha smiled. "Won't be necessary," said Logan, fishing out his keys.

He jammed them into the lock and swung open the door, and it was only when he went to put them back in his pocket that Tabitha saw the colourful beads hanging from the keychain that caught the light.

"Those are my beads," said Tabitha, staring. Her gaze snapped up to Logan, who had furrowed his brow.

"Are they?" he asked. He stepped into the institute and Tabitha followed. "I just found 'em on the floor a couple days ago. Figured no one wanted 'em." He shrugged. "You want 'em back?"

Tabitha shook her head. "No. The others made it pretty clear what they thought of my… of my pride." She hugged herself, leaning against the door and debating making a break for it. She didn't want to have this conversation with _Logan_. He wouldn't understand. He was some gruff lumberjack type. All machoism and drinking and sharp words.

"Pride, huh?" echoed Logan. He sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "If the others are giving you trouble, you need to tell us, blondie. We aren't gonna tell you that you're seeing things. We'll deal with it."

Tabitha scowled and hugged herself tighter, hunching her shoulders. "So why wear them?" she asked, trying desperately to change the subject. "To prove a point? No one else has seen them."

Logan sighed. "Kid, just because you're the only one _out_ at the institute, doesn't mean you're the only one who ain't straight." He gave her a flat look. "Myself included."

Tabitha's eyes went wide. "You're…"

"Bisexual, if you wanna be specific," said Logan, shrugging. "But I keep my professional life – which is here – and my personal life damn near separated. I'm your teacher, your mentor, before I'm anything else. You don't need to know who I date in my spare time. That ain't your job."

Tabitha nodded, her eyes wide and a little wet. _She wasn't alone._ "But why not say something?"

"Never had a reason to," said Logan. "But the numbers don't lie, sooner or later, someone at the institute was going to be gay, or bi, or _something._ " He shrugged and stuffed his keys back into his pockets. "That doesn't mean I was gonna say anything first, but now I think I probably should have." He rubbed his face again. "Look, if it means that much to you, I'll tell 'em all. Shout it from the damn roof if it'll make you stop pouting."

Tabitha laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"And we – all the teachers – we'll talk to the others. I know Scott's pretty relaxed about this stuff, maybe you should talk to him about the x-kids," said Logan. Tabitha nodded. She could do that.

"Okay," she said.

"And blondie?" said Logan. Tabitha raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that alone. No one should ever have to feel like that."

Tabitha stepped forward and hugged Logan tight, arms around his shoulders. He tensed for only a second, then wrapped his arms around her, his hands on her back.

"Thank you," she mumbled into his chest.

"You're welcome," said Logan. And if his shirt got a little wet, and Tabitha got a little misty, well. No one else had to know.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I always felt like the first person to come out at the Institute would be Tabitha, so here it is. Also, I decided to take a more... diverse? I suppose... reaction to her coming out. Some people like it, some people don't, and Tabitha focuses on the people who don't, because those are easier to spot.

Reviews are love! And greatly appreciated!


	3. Finer Details

**Author's Note:** Two updates a month if I can manage it, so here's hoping. Thank you everyone who left reviews before, I loved them all! If you like the chapter, please consider leaving another. Cheers, y'all!

* * *

 **Three: Finer Details**

Bobby twisted his fingers around the ice spike he'd formed, tracing new patterns into the ice until the edges shaved away to form a detailed horse, rearing up on its back legs. He smiled, twisting his fingers again to form the details of the mane. It was a clumsy horse, detailed but rough and a little bigger than he'd wanted – about six inches in total. But it was better than he'd been a couple weeks ago, when he'd first arrived at the Institute.

He sighed when one of the front hooves cracked and fell to the kitchen island he was working on. Propped one of his hands on the counter and rested his chin in his palm.

"Dang it," he muttered. He clenched his fist and the whole thing dissolved into icy dust.

"You're getting better," said Scott. Bobby twisted around in his seat to see Scott leaning in the doorway. His telltale red sunglasses were glinting in the low lights suspended above the kitchen counter.

"Still can't get it any smaller than that," said Bobby with a sigh. "I'm trying to get them under four inches, you know? Fit them in the palm of my hand."

Scott smiled at him and stepped into the kitchen, crossing the tiled floor to lean against the kitchen counter.

"Hey, we all start somewhere," said Scott. "And for someone who's had their powers for less than a year? Bobby, that's pretty incredible." Scott smiled at him and gestured to dust. "I didn't have that kind of precision when I got here."

Bobby shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I do better with the big stuff."

"The bigger stuff is easier," said Scott. He gestured to the counter's damp spot. "How are you doing that, forming them?"

"I make a block of ice and then shave it down," said Bobby.

Scott nodded. "And how do you make your ice slides?" he asked.

Bobby frowned, brow pinching in the centre of his forehead. "I just think 'slide' and make them," he said. He shrugged. "They're big, it's not that hard."

Scott tipped his head to one side, glasses glinting in the kitchen lighting. "Have you tried thinking 'horse' and making the little ones?" he asked. He shrugged. "You never know unless you try, right?"

Bobby nodded. He could see the logic there. If he could make his slides with a thought, why not his figurines? Same concept, smaller scale. "Yeah," said Bobby. "That's a great idea."

He set his hand down on the counter and narrowed his eyes. Let the image of the tiny horse in his mother's jewellery box come to mind again. He conjured thoughts of the horse, reared back. The tiny hooves and the details in the face. The muscular structure of the horse and the smooth surface that he'd stared at for hours as a kid.

His hands grew colder and colder until icy steam rose up from the counter. Taking a deep breath, Bobby lifted his hand, slow and steady, up from the counter, letting the ice form to the image he had conjured in his mind so perfectly.

A horse, no more than four inches tall, stared at him from the counter. It was rough – not as detailed as the one in his mind, and some of the proportions were off, but it was _there._

"Wow," breathed Bobby. His gaze shot up to stare at Scott, eyes wide and a slow grin forming on his face. "How did you know that'd work?" he asked.

"I didn't," said Scott.

Bobby cocked his head, brow furrowed and lips pursed.

Scott let out a soft laugh. "Like I said, Bobby, you never know unless you try. That's why we're here, you know? To become something greater than what we already are." He reached over the counter and ruffled Bobby's hair.

"You'll be a good leader, some day," said Scott.

Bobby grinned. "You think?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Scott. "The others already follow you around like you're some kind of captain. It's in your personality to be a leader."

"Like you?" asked Bobby, raising an eyebrow.

Scott made a face. "I'm a leader because I'm good at it, not because I always wanted to be. But you? You seem to want to be."

"I do," said Bobby. He looked down at the horse and his grin turned to something softer. "I really, really do."

"Then go for it," said Scott. Bobby looked up at him again. Scott was smiling. "Just remember that being a leader comes with responsibility. Don't lead them around into danger just because you can. Got it?"

Bobby snapped a sharp salute and stood up straight. "Got it!"

"Good," said Scott. "Now, grab a stool. One of these cabinets has the sodas on top of it, and _I_ want a drink." Bobby laughed and grabbed the chairs, telling Scott he'd ice the drinks for them as he did.

Leader? Yeah. He could get used to that. Especially if he had Scott to help him figure things out.


	4. Braids

**Author's Note:** Way too long of a hiatus. Going to try and be more regular. Sorry y'all.

Please considering leaving a comment if you liked it!

* * *

 **Four: Braids**

Amara sat on the floor, back pressed to Jubilee's bed, as Jubilee braided her hair. Jubilee's fingers moved quickly and deftly through her hair, picking up stray strands and looping them back in as she went. Jubilee's legs were crossed and, as Amara looked up into the mirror over Jubilee's dresser, across from her bed, she could see Jubilee sticking out her tongue, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Thanks again, Jubilee," said Amara, tilting her head forward at the other girls' nudging.

"Hey, not a problem," said Jubilee, "I love braiding hair, and this is a lot easier than doing my own." Her fingers brushed the back of Amara's neck as she kept working. "Can I ask you something though?"

Amara hummed. "Yeah."

"Are you avoiding Tabitha?" At Jubilee's words, Amara went very still. A moment later, she felt Jubilee tie off the braid. "Amara." Jubilee's words were firm.

"Maybe?" Amara swallowed around her words. "I mean…" She sighed. "Yes." She pulled her braid over her shoulder and fiddled with it. Didn't look up at the mirror or back at Jubilee.

"Is it because she's gay?" asked Jubilee. Amara kept fiddling with her braid. She said nothing. "Amara!" Sharper this time, angry as well.

"What?" snapped Amara. She spun around to face Jubilee. "What do you want me to do? It's weird, Jubes, it's really weird."

Jubilee rolled her eyes. "She's still Tabitha. It's _you_ that's being weird."

"That's not true!" said Amara. "What if she hits on me, or what if she tries to kiss me? It's bad enough she's allowed in the locker rooms with us. Do I really have to have her as a roommate?"

Jubilee stared at her for long enough with such a nasty look on her face that Amara wondered if she didn't have some kind of hideous deformity. She looked over her shoulder at the mounted mirror, but she looked fine.

"Do you even hear yourself?" asked Jubilee in a low voice. "She's our _friend_ , Amara. Do you worry the boys are going to hit on you?"

Amara faltered. "No. Of course not."

"Precisely!" Jubilee threw her hands into the air. "Why does it matter so much just because Tabitha is a girl? You're being a bigot."

"I'm being smart," protested Amara. She got to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. "Besides, why does she have to flaunt it in her faces? We didn't ask her to!"

Jubilee fell back on her bed, hands over her face as she groaned. "You're being stupid."

"No, I'm not," snapped Amara. She felt her hands grow hot and forced herself not to ignite. "Where I come from, people like Tabitha aren't allowed to exist, and I don't know why it's different here, but I don't like it." She thought of her father. Of his snarls. Of his hand raised in anger. She swallowed hard. "She's stupid for thinking she's not weird. And you're stupid for supporting this weird phase of hers."

"Do you even hear yourself?" asked Jubilee. She didn't sit back up or take her hands off her face. "You sound worse than the people we're supposed to be hiding from."

Amara growled. "You just don't get it!"

Jubilee sat up and jabbed a finger at her. "No, _you_ don't get it."

The two glared at each other. A moment later, the door clicked open and Rahne peeked in.

"Is everything all right in here?" she asked, her drawl stronger than usual. "Thought I heard yelling."

"Fine," snapped Amara and Jubilee in unison. Amara turned and stalked out of the room, shoving passed Rahne and trying not to growl again.

She just didn't get it. It wasn't that simple.

Tabitha was different. Way different. And didn't Jubilee get that people who were different had bad things happen to them? Better to be normal. Better to pretend.

Better to never say anything at all.


	5. Pencils

**Author's Note:** I'll finish out the rest of the new recruits' first parts soon. First I wanted to post this one.

* * *

 **Five: Pencils**

Ray snagged a mechanical pencil from the holder on the library table and flipped to a clean page in his notebook. Sam and Bobby were sitting at the other table in the Institute's library, arguing quietly while they played paper football.

He let his gaze flick back and forth, from Sam and Bobby to the lined paper and growing pencil marks. As he worked, shaky images of Sam and Bobby, both caught mid-laugh, emerged on the lined paper.

He'd always had a knack for this, drawing. Callisto had let him draw down in the sewers, saying that his pictures kept high morale. It let him practice for years, leaving him decently capable, especially with the art books other Morlocks had stolen so he could keep creating his comic about a world full of physically mutated mutants and how it was seen as normal and happy.

It was one of the things he'd left behind, when he'd been pulled out of the sewers and put in the Institute. All the pictures, all the supplies. All the late nights curled around half a dozen other mutants, drawing them the way they wanted to be seen. Giving them the whole world through graphite and cheap printer paper. Redoing them when the rain water rose too high and smeared the pencil marks and ink beyond recognition.

Ray sighed and propped his chin in his hand, continuing his drawing. It'd been a while since he'd done this, and he'd never drawn anyone at the Institute before. Well, almost anyone. There were a couple mostly finished sketches of Kurt tucked in the back of his notebook, existing solely because he'd missed drawing the Morlocks and Kurt would have blended right in with them.

Another few pencil marks joined the rest, forming Sam's eyelashes and the lines in his cheeks. Dimples, thought Ray. No one down in the sewers had had dimples. At least, none that he could see.

He kept working, filling out details, adding bangs and clothing lines and shading as he went. It was tricky, getting the shading just right when all he has was a thin-tipped mechanical pencil, but he made it work as best he could. After some time, Sam and Bobby went back to studying – largely because Ms. Munroe had come in and told them to work or else they wouldn't get dessert – and Ray finished his drawing.

Ray frowned at the picture. It looked fine, but it captured something else he hadn't expected.

Loneliness.

Maybe looking at the picture, you wouldn't know, but Ray knew. The picture marked yet another time he'd been isolated from the others. It was a bigger problem every day. People kept avoiding him, whether because of his anger or his powers or something else, Ray didn't know.

Maybe he smelled. He hated showering. But he still _did_ and he made sure to wear deodorant and wear clean clothes every day. He didn't even wear socks, so that couldn't be the problem either.

God, he just didn't know.

The door to the library opened and Ray looked up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam and Bobby look up as well. Kurt came into the room. He waved at Sam and Bobby, who waved back before returning to studying what Ray thought was probably their science homework. They'd been talking about balancing equations earlier.

Ray had no idea how to do that. He was glad he wasn't in the class.

"Hey, Ray?" Kurt's accented voice floated next to his ear and Ray glanced up, seeing him. Kurt smiled. "Can I sit?" he asked, pointing to one of the chairs. Ray nodded and Kurt sat down next to him. "You're very good."

Ray blinked and followed Kurt's gaze to the doodle on his notebook paper. He flushed and flipped it over, stuffing it into one of his notebook pages. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Kurt bumped his shoulder and smiled at him. It occurred to Ray that Kurt wasn't wearing his image inducer. He couldn't help but feel a bit flattered. Kurt almost always wore it around the newer students. If only because a couple of them still kind of freaked out if he caught them off guard with it. Ray thought it was stupid, he thought Kurt looked _awesome._

"Do you draw often?" asked Kurt. His tail swished between his shoulders, perking up and then down again as he spoke.

Ray nodded and, after a moment of hesitation, he flipped open to one of his mostly-finished pictures of Kurt, turning the notebook so that Kurt could look at it. Kurt broke into a wide smile and carefully nudged the notebook closer with his tail. His golden eyes sparkled, his fangs showing as his smile transformed into a grin.

"That's _me_ ," said Kurt, the awe clear in his voice. He looked up at Ray. "Like, like this!" He stared back down at the picture, tracing the edges with one of his fingers.

Ray was proud of that picture. It was Kurt, dangling upside down from the stairs, attempting to mock-steal Scott's glasses. He hadn't finished Scott, who was a wireframe with a face, but he'd finished Kurt for the most part.

"'Course," said Ray. "Why wouldn't I?"

Kurt's grin transformed into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges. He cocked his head to Ray. "Would you draw something? Or…" He trailed off and shook his head. "I'm sorry, that's rude."

"No," said Ray. "I…" He trailed off, took his notebook back, and flipped to a new page. Pencil hit paper and he started sketching out something he'd seen earlier – Rahne, in wolf form and in mid-air, leaping to catch a Frisbee. Ray leaned over the paper, brow furrowed, and felt more than saw Kurt settle in to watch.

Neither one spoke as Ray drew, but Ray didn't mind.

He was just glad for the company.


End file.
